Homecoming (An Alternate To The Empty Hearse)
by arthursdragon
Summary: Sherlock, comes back to London to see John, but things don't go exactly like he thought they would. Just a "bit" different from the real first episode. Pretty heavy Johnlock.


**Homecoming (An Alternate to The Empty Hearse)**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock, or the BBC :(

**A/N:** This is my first ever fanfiction, and i'm just doing this to for fun and to see if i'm any good. I'd appreciate constructive criticism, but I didn't write this to be insulted. I hope you enjoy. Please review!

Sherlock felt relieved to be back in London after two years, freshly shaven and wearing his favorite coat. He missed the familiar smells, sights, _faces._ He missed playing detective with the silly police and... well, at any rate, the beard he had grown had been too long. He strolled down the sidewalk of Baker Street, a cap over his dark curls to avoid being recognized. He stopped in front of 221B. He held the key in one hand. He had managed to keep it with him while on his "holiday". He went to put in the key and was distracted by a sudden flashback. Him, and a certain blond soldier, standing outside, the soldier waiting to see his new flat. Sherlock's eyes stung,but he shook it off and turned the key. He walked in, and went straight to Mrs. Hudson. He found her drying dishes. He cleared his throat and watched her with amusement as she whipped around, holding a very expensive china plate in her hand. She saw Sherlock and immediately dropped the plate, screaming at a pitch that bats would find unreasonable. She ran at him with amazing speed for a woman of her age and grabbed him in a death grip. He smiled and patted her head. "That's quite enough Mrs. Hudson." She didn't let go. "Mrs. Hudson, you are restricting the flow of oxygen into my lungs, please, do let go." Mrs. Hudson held on with arms of steel. Sherlock wasn't going to be nice anymore. "MRS. HUDSON!" Startled, the older woman let go. " Oh Sherlock , I can't believe it's really you!". Mrs. Hudson was beaming at him. "I'm so excited! Tea?" "Yes, by all means" Mrs. Hudson scurried around the kitchen grabbing tea bags and cups. She didn't bother to sweep up the broken plate and neither did Sherlock. He sat down at the small kitchen table, taking the cap off. "Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson cooed " The apartment felt so empty without you. Don't worry, it's just how you and John left it." Sherlock's ears perked up at the sound of John's name.A look of confusion then crossed his face. "How _John_ and I left it?" Mrs. Hudson turned around. "Yes dear, he moved out after... well you know." Sherlock found himself irritated. Well, Mycroft failed to include that in his debriefing. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson jumped. "I must be slipping! We have forgotten to call John!" She rushed towards the phone, but Sherlock grabbed her arm. "No, Mrs. Hudson, I think I'll surprise him tonight." Sherlock was giddy at the idea, so many possibilities came to mind, and, of course John would be thrilled to see though Mycroft had disagreed. "Where does he live, Mrs. Hudson?" "Oh, he won't be there tonight, dear, he's going out to dinner at that fancy French bistro a couple blocks away." Sherlock was puzzled, John would never take one of his silly little girlfriends there, not unless they were... serious? No, not John Watson. Sherlock grabbed his cap and moved swiftly to the door, Mrs. Hudson and his tea the furthest thing from his mind. He had to get ready to see John. His John.

* * *

Sherlock was about walk in to the restaurant John was eating at. He had come up with the perfect plan, he was going to pretend to be John's waiter and surprise him with more than just a good french meal. He had the uniform all ready. He strolled into the restaurant and immediately spotted John off to the right. John had a hideous mustache. Well, that could go later. Sherlock started towards John when he saw a young woman sit quickly hid behind a nearby plant. She was pretty, but not unusually. She smiled at John and to Sherlock's shock John pulled out a diamond ring. Not terribly good quality Sherlock noticed, but a diamond ring nonetheless. The young woman shrieked and John slipped the ring onto her finger. Sherlock decided that it would be better if he posed at someone who wouldn't have contact with John for a while. A taxi driver perhaps? Sherlock needed time to think. He slipped a taxi driver a hundred pounds to leave his car for awhile. Sherlock sat in the car, completely and utterly confused. John? John Watson? Engaged? He couldn't believe it. Not to mention that awful mustache! John looked like a fossil with it. No doubt probably a suggestion from his _fiancee_. Sherlock sneered at the thought. He continued to stew in the same manner until John and the strange woman walked out of the restaurant. John saw Sherlock's taxi and walked up to him, presumably to give a location, but he never got that far. John saw the familiar cheekbones, the dark curls, but it couldn't be... Sherlock smiled that smile that was one of a kind and John knew. Sherlock expected to hear some sort of exclaimation but all he heard was a loud THUMP as John fainted and hit the sidewalk.

* * *

The next thing John realized he was blurrily gazing up at a familiar figure. Curly black hair, long coat, blue eyes. He focused his vision and realized who he was looking at. Sherlock. He tried to get up but was pushed down by a bony hand. He quickly gave a panicked glance to the right and saw Mary kneeling next to him, with an apologetic and concerned face. He looked back up at the skinny figure. It was really Sherlock. His Sherlock. John remembered with a sudden jolt of long buried pain the last time he had seen Sherlock. The blood, the horrible contrast of pale white skin to the pool of crimson surrounding it, the last words: "Goodbye, John", but most of all, the lack of a pulse when he had tried to check it. There was certainly a pulse now. John focused back on reality and registered that Sherlock had lied to him, let him weep and ache for months. He wasn't dead, Sherlock had been alive, all this time! With not so much as a single word. John's relief and love were replaced quickly by anger. A red hot, seething anger, that slowly boiled his blood.

* * *

Sherlock had been watching John's emotional process for the last few minutes with complete amazement. He was touched by the look of love in John's eyes and by the look of relief. The look of pain that came after told Sherlock that John was remembering that day, and Sherlock felt a pang of guilt in his chest, painful and unyielding. He then watched as John's pain turned into anger.A hardened look came over John's face and he took Sherlock's hand off of his chest. Sherlock felt himself suddenly missing the contact with John. The last time they had physically touched was when John had frantically searched Sherlock for a pulse, only to be pulled away too quickly. He didn't miss it for long, though because John's fist quickly made contact with Sherlock's jaw.

* * *

Sherlock and John found themselves sitting in the cafe where they had waited for the taxi-cab killer. John had sent Mary home. She had been reluctant to go, desperate to hear juicy details, and she wanted to keep on eye on Sherlock, there was something in the way he looked at John she didn't like...but nevertheless she got into the cab John ordered and went home. Now it was just John and Sherlock. Sherlock was rubbing the spot on his jaw where John punched him. He glanced across the table to find John giving him the coldest of stares, he flinched slightly, hurt by the fury in John's eyes. John didn't speak for several minutes, but when he did all he said was "Why?" Sherlock didn't know how to answer the question. "Well, because, because , you were bound to tell someone that I was going undercover." John snorted. "So that's where you were for two years? Playing secret agent man?" Sherlock smirked. "Playing? No. Destroying Moriarty's criminal empire? Yes." John looked unimpressed."And in all that two years, you never had a moment to call and say hey im not dead?" Sherlock nervously fiddled with his collar. "I tried to write, a thousand times."

"Well at least you remembered you're old friend that you betrayed, lied to and let go to therapy for bloody depression over your death!"

Sherlock looked down. If only John knew how much he thought of him. Sherlock, along with the flat key, had kept a picture of John with him, and when he could, looked at John's blog, desperately hoping John would post something, anything. But, of course John couldn't know that. Sherlock simply said "Of course I thought of my blogger. You didn't think that I could be in a boring situation and not think about your blog?" Sherlock was only joking, but that was it for John. He sprang up out of his chair and pointed a finger at Sherlock. "You were dead! I saw my best friend fall to his death, and went to his funeral and cried, and I couldn't even keep in contact with my old friends, because it was too painful! I went to depression counseling for months and tried to get past it, but I couldn't. Luckily for you and me, I found Mary. She was, she is, beautiful and kindhearted and she helped me. I finally was able to function again. And if you don't mind , I think I'll go home to her now, because she'll never lie to me or betray me. She actually cares about my feelings."John put on his coat and headed for the door. Sherlock jumped up after him. "John, please! I am truly sorry." John stopped and turned around. His eyes softened for just a second, and Sherlock saw tears welling up in them. "Damn it, Sherlock you can't just apologize, I watched you _die_. I saw you lying on the ground covered in blood, I went to your grave every weekend for the past two years mourning the loss of a brilliant man, the loss of my Sher..."He stopped. Sherlock started towards John, but John turned back around and walked briskly to the edge of the street and hailed a cab. In just a few moments he was out of sight.

* * *

Sherlock had moved back into 221B, but he felt unsatisfied just talking to his skull, and John wouldn't talk to him, so he called Mycroft. Mycroft showed up exactly at what time he was asked to arrive. They poured tea and sat down. Sherlock sipped at his tea and gazed curiously at his brother. Mycroft caught Sherlock's gaze. "What is it?" Sherlock looked down for a second. "Did you ever have any feelings for anyone besides your family?" Mycroft looked puzzled."What kind of feelings?" "You know, _affection." _Mycroft cringed. "Certainly not, the only reason I feel anything for my family at all is because it's rather involuntary. Why do you ask?" "Well I thought you might have gotten lonely without me, and found a ... pet of sorts." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose that's what you would have called John Watson? A... pet of sorts?" Sherlock noticed his implication and felt ashamed. "Certainly not! John was a useful asset and a good friend." Mycroft sighed, he never had understood the meaning of the word _friend. _ "Was?"

"Well , he didn't receive me as a hoped."

Mycroft smiled. "So the reunion didn't work out as planned? How unusual." Sherlock scowled at his brother, he hated it when Mycroft was right. "I need to get John back into my life, I need his help, I need him." Mycroft grinned widely for the first time, well, ever. "That took long enough, didn't it?"

"What?"

"Admitting your feeling for Doctor Watson."

Sherlock blushed. "What feelings?"

"It is painfully clear that you love John Watson as more than a ... colleague of sorts."

"Is it?"

" It always was , but now more than ever."

Sherlock couldn't pretend to hide it any longer. " Alright, I love him! I've loved him since the first moment I saw him walk into the lab, walking with that adorable, psychosymatic limp."

Mycroft was going to interject, but Sherlock kept talking. " He makes me human. Without him I'm nothing more than an empty being. He made me better. Having to give him up was more painful than anything I have ever experienced. I f only I could show him that without permanently scaring him away."

Mycroft sighed. He was happy for his brother and his newly acknowledged feelings, but didn't quite understand why he wanted them. "Sherlock, go and talk to him, tell him how you feel. You hardly ever show emotion, so showing a vulnerability may sway him."

* * *

John was sitting at home, stewing. Sherlock was a daft asshole. Whom John still cared about, alot. He was glad Mary wasn't here. He had needed time to think. She went out with some girlfriends for an engagement party of sorts. John thought about calling Sherlock. He did want to talk to him, but didn't know how. He walked over to the phone, and gingerly picked it up. He quickly put it down again. He couldn't do this. He went upstairs, and changed into a pair of jeans. He had to go see Sherlock in person. Unfortunately, John didn't know that two men were waiting in the hall for him. He walked into the same hall and was promptly assaulted by the two men. They hit John in the back of the head and he collapsed on the floor.

* * *

Sherlock knocked on the John's door. There was no answer. That was strange. By Mycroft's information, John was staying in all night, alone. He had ordered a pizza, judging by the empty box laying by the bin. Sherlock also saw lights on in almost every room. He had to be here. Sherlock knocked again, no answer. He was fed up with John's hide and seek act and tried the door, it was unlocked. He opened it. There was no one there. He looked around the first floor, and stopped in the kitchen. There was not written in delicate script on a plain sheet of yellow notebook paper. It read: "Dear , me and my associates have Dr. Watson. He's just fine, for now. At precisely 8:30 we will start recreating the night you jumped from that building. He will fall thirty minutes after that. We'd love you to come watch." Sherlock threw down the note and looked at his watch. 8:40. He could still stop it. He ran outside and hailed a taxi. He payed the driver 500 pounds to drive as fast as he could to the building. The driver peeled through the streets of London, throwing caution to the wind. He arrived at exactly 8:56. He ran up to the door. It was open. He sprinted to the top as fast as he could. He got to the top and saw a man holding John at gunpoint at the edge of the building. John was hyperventilating. Sherlock knew that if he startled the man, he would push John. He looked at his watch. 8:59:30. The man must have been watching for Sherlock. What he didn't know was that Sherlock was behind him. Sherlock tried to wrestle the gun from the man's grip. John could do nothing, he was woozy from his bash on the head and if he moved, he would surely fall. Sherlock grabbed the gun and hit the man in the head with the butt of the gun. The man fell, but he hit John on the way down and John started to fall. Sherlock lurched forward and grabbed his hand. Sherlock could feel his grip slipping. John whispered "Goodbye, Sherlock". But Sherlock refused to let John die now. After just getting him back. Not now. Not his John. He mustered all of his strength and grabbed John's hand with both of his and hauled him onto the rooftop. John collapsed on Sherlock's chest, both panting heavily. Sherlock looked into John's eyes and saw he was crying freely, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock gently rolled him off and got up. He grabbed John's hand and pulled him up. John looked into Sherlock's eyes, whispered "Thank You." and collapsed back down. Sherlock saw the wound on the back of John's head and figured they should get it checked. He helped John up and practically carried him down the stairs. He brought him to another hospital and waited outside while John went through an MRI. He had a superficial wound. No big deal. John came out looking tired and weary. Sherlock offered to take him home. They got in a cab and Sherlock absentmindedly said "221B Baker St., please." John didn't say anything, he was groggy and still slightly in shock. They got to Baker Street and Sherlock realized his mistake. John was too tired for another trip. He agreed to spend the night. They tramped up the stairs slowly, at John's pace, and Sherlock immediately sat John down in his old chair when they reached the flat. John fell asleep almost the second he hit the chair. Sherlock changed into his bedclothes and watched John sleep, stopping only long enough to call Mary and say that John was fine and would spending the night at Baker street. He returned to John and spent the night studying every curve of John's face, every pore, every crease, every laugh and worry line that made it perfect.

* * *

John awoke at 8 AM and found coffee already waiting for him. He took a sip and looked around. Nothing had changed. He even found Sherlock in his usual place, lying on the couch, thinking hard. John made a move to leave, but Sherlock sensed it and immediately sat up. "Ah, John" he said casually going to get a cup of coffee."Long night last night."

"Yeah, I'm gonna go now, Mary's probably waiting." John turned to leave.

"John, wait" John turned around. Sherlock's face was worried and his words were soft and endearing. John waited. Sherlock took a sip of coffee and began to speak. "John, I know you still haven't forgiven me for lying to you. I don't expect you to. I just want you to know that you mean the world to me. I always knew it, but last night when I thought I was going to lose you, and I wanted to tell you before you left my life again. I love you, John Watson. I always have, and I always will." John just stared into Sherlock's eyes. The words were sincere. He had waited for three and a half years to hear those words. He couldn't contain his feelings any longer. He walked towards Sherlock, but stopped, thinking of Mary. What would she do? He couldn't think about her at the moment, not when the man he loved had just confessed his own feelings. "Fuck it" John rushed at Sherlock and bent his head down so he could kiss him. It was the most passionate, love filled kiss John had ever experienced. He broke away for a moment and looked at Sherlock. "God, I love you" THe two men joined their two mouths together again, and John could feel Sherlock's tongue probing at his lips. He parted his lips slightly and let Sherlock use his tongue. The two of them kissed for what felt like an hour. Sherlock finally broke apart, and looked at John with a playful stare. "I want you" he whispered seductively. John couldn't have been more happy.

* * *

Sherlock carried John to the bedroom, with John wrapped around his waist, his fingers tangled in the detective's raven curls. They knocked several things off of tables when Sherlock stopped at every flat surface to pin John down. They were both hard and they were desperate to get at each other naked. Sherlock pulled John into his bedroom and ripped off the doctor's shirt. John did the same to Sherlock, this time going a step farther and unbuttoning the detectived trousers and letting them fall around his ankles. They were both naked, and panting and had a look of lust burning in their eyes. Sherlock couldn't contain himself. Although he was the virgin, the one more likely to be timid, he had no problem taking charge. He had studied the subject a couple of times. Just a few. In case the need ever arose. And it paid off. He pushed John down on the bed and hovered on top of him. John was moaning his name. "Please, Sherlock, do it. Do it!" Sherlock could never deny John. He entered him and both of the men gasped with pleasure. John grinded his hips against Sherlocks and cried "Harder!". Sherlock started moving in and out of John, thrusting roughly and making both the men groan. Sherlock felt himself reaching his climax and started making his thrusts shorter and harder, massaging John's penis all the time. Sherlock came with a moan of pure ecstacy and John followed shortly, spurting semen onto both men. Sherlock collapsed and rolled off of John and next to him in the bed. Both panted heavily for a few moments before relaxing into a pleasurable silence.

* * *

John was completely happy, until he thought of Mary. She wouldn't be completely thrilled that he had cheated on her. With a man. Even if she could forgive him it wouldn't be valid because John wasn't exactly going to be playing on the straight team. He shuddered. How to tell her? While he was thinking, he noticed Sherlock had fallen asleep. John gave him and affectionate glance and kissed the top of his head. Sherlock smiled and snuggled closer to John. John slowly got out of the bed, he needed to shower. Sherlock was still sound asleep. John got into the hot water and started to relax. He could just tell her the truth. If she truly loved him, she would understand. He suddenly heard footsteps that were not from the bedroom. Mrs. Hudson. No, they were high heels. Mary! He scrambled to get out of the shower and get some clothes... his clothes were in the bedroom... Fuck. He heard Sherlock's voice. He was trying to stall. It wasn't working. Mary walked into the bathroom to find John in a towel. "John, dear, get your clothes on, we have an appointment with a wedding planner. " John didn't move. "My clothes are in the bedroom." Mary didn't get it. "Oh, Sherlock let you sleep in your old bedroom, how sweet." John saw his oppurtunity. "That's Sherlock's bedroom." Mary still didn't get it. "Where did Sherlock sleep then?" John swallowed. "In his bedroom." A look a realization dawned on Mary's face. Followed by a look of anger. "You slept with Sherlock?!" John didn't say anything. "No wonder Sherlock had that look of lust on his face a couple nights ago! He wanted to fuck you! And evidently he got his wish!" John felt horrible. "Mary, I don't know how to apologize to you.." She held up a hand. "Don't. You've actually saved both of us. It would have been worse if we had been married, and you came out of the closet in twenty John." Mary walked out of the bathroom and towards the door. John scrambled after her. "Mary, wait!" She stopped and turned around. She didn't look mad, so much as hurt. She looked at John and placed her ring in his hand. " I always knew you never completely happy like I was. There was always something in your touch, your kiss, something lacking. I knew the moment you saw Sherlock again that thats what it was. I just thought you missed him. But I see now that you were always in love with him." She closed John's hand and walked over to Sherlock. " You better take care of him. Forever. He might have cheated on me with you but I know that you were the one he was meant to be with." Sherlock nodded and she kissed him on the cheek. She walked out of the door and down the stairs and out of John's life. He was guilty beyond comprehension. She hadn't been his soul mate, but she had been a damn good friend and girlfriend. Sherlock gingerly took John's hand in his. "It's for the best." John nodded. "I have to get dressed. He put on last nights clothes and sat on the bed. So much had happened in the span of 24 hours it was unbelievable. Sherlock kissed John's hand and took him into an embrace.

"Never leave me Sherlock."

"Never again, John Watson."

A sequel will be written!


End file.
